A Higher Authority
by BigHead
Summary: YAHF – Sometimes, you screw up. Sometimes, you screw up really, really bad. Ethan Rayne did worse, he messed with things he had no idea.
1. 1,200,602

**A Higher Authority**

**Author:** BigHead / Everyone here belongs to someone else, except me. I belong to a boatload of taxes.

**Summary:** YAHF – Sometimes, you screw up. Sometimes, you screw up really, really bad. Ethan Rayne did worse, he messed with things he had no idea.

**Rating: ** AO, or Adults Only. None of the characters are cuddly little bunnies, and they curse like sailors.

**Author's Notes: **Well, here we go again. This is a crossover with Wildstorm's line of comic books, basically the Authority and Planetary. Reading them is highly recommended. As another warning, Xander is going to be a very mean SOB during this fic. Some character bashing MAY occur, both vocally and physically. Flashback scenes are between –oOo-, radiotelepathy between ::

**Author's Notes 2: **Reviews means go ahead. No reviews means limbo.

**Feedback**: YESSSS!!!! PLEEEEAAAASEEE!!!

* * *

**Chapter 1 – One Million, two hundred thousand, six hundred and two.**

Xander woke up the following Saturday with the headache from hell, or the Hellmouth, whatever worked at the moment. He opened one eye, and his room swam into focus in a heartbeat, but his memories from last night were still very fuzzy. He remembered some moments of extreme violence, and the lingering pain in his muscles put him right in the middle of it.

"I don't wanna know. I really don't…" he muttered, and even the slight motion of his jaw moving was enough to send another spike of pain into his brain. Looking to a side, he saw the leather uniform Ethan had rented for him for Halloween, the cheap Batman knock-off, sprawled messily over his chair.

-oOo-

"Can I help you, young man?" the man asked, while Xander roamed the store.

"I don't know. I wanted a costume, something cool but not too expensive," he said, noticing the man's accent.

"I might have an idea, and you might actually help me. I'm Ethan, the owner," the British man said, extending his hand.

"Xander," he said, shaking the offered hand. "Help you with what?"

"Well, I got a few costumes by mistake, they were supposed to go to some Comic Book Convention, but someone messed up the invoices, and I ended up with them. I've asked quite a few young men like you what characters they were, but I fear no one could answer me. So now I have a few costumes I fear won't be bought or rented. Perhaps you might be interested?"

-oOo-

The Scooby thought about going back to bed, but he needed to do something about the headache or he would never manage to get some extra sleep. Xander climbed out of bed, and picked the large first aid kit under his bed, opening it quickly. He cursed as soon as he noticed the empty aspirin bottle. He didn't stop the diatribe even while he was donning a clean t-shirt, his pants and tennis shoes to go the closest drugstore to buy some.

However, his extreme headache made him commit several mistakes in sequence, which would make his already messy life even messier. First one was banging his room's door in anger when he was leaving it. Second was that it caused the hammer currently banging inside his head to be multiplied a thousand fold. Third, the pain made him close his eyes for a few moments, while he both cursed internally and climbed down the stairs. His intimate knowledge of the house he was raised in allowed him to walk around in a blindfold, if he so wished. However large such knowledge was, it didn't take into account moving obstacles, so it was in one such that Xander bumped, rather strongly, making him and said obstacle fall to the ground in opposite directions. He was about to curse rather loudly, but the obstacle won this rather particular race.

"Y_ou useless..."_

The unmistakable voice of his usually drunk father made Xander open his still closed eyes, and that's when all went to hell in a handbasket.

See, the headache had a very specific reason to be, it was his brain and entire organism at odds with the changes caused by last night's mystical transformation of his body. If no external stimuli forced the issue until the end of the day, the mystical aspect would have vanished, taking the modifications with it, only to be remembered eventually, but at an infinitesimal percentage of what it had been. When Xander opened his eyes, the microscopical implants - small pieces of hardware quite impossible of being reproduced with Earth's current level of technology, if ever – sensed the threat, and in a picosecond the body they were a temporary part of stopped fighting them, and accepted the changes in an effort for self-preservation. They locked in and aligned themselves with the nervous system of their host, the muscular and sensory upgrades entering online another fraction of a second later.

One million, two hundred thousand, six hundred and two.

These were the number of times the entire fight was analyzed by said implants. In the next second, the outcome had already been decided.

Xander's implants automatically considered Tony to be a non-entity in fighting ability. That took the choices from one point two million to roughly three hundred thousand choices. The negligent threat level, thus reducing the need for lethal force reduced the results again, to something in the thirty thousand options range. Permanent injury or disfiguration were also disregarded, but these by a very narrow margin.

That left painful and unforgettable. Seven thousand four hundred and thirty six options.

Xander waited for a few more fractions of a second, the implants following the drunk's movement every single moment and adjusting reactions accordingly, until he was in a good enough position. The younger Harris kicked with both feet, hitting his father's knees with enough force to break both. The man fell like an axed tree, screaming high enough to wake up the dead, tears falling down his eyes.

The teen stood up, grabbing the man by the collar of his shirt.

"Look, you piece of shit, this is the last time you'll ever lay a hand on me or my mother. I suggest that, as soon as you leave the hospital, you get in the first bus out of town, and disappear from my sight. If I ever see you again, I'll kill you and no one will ever find the body," he said close to the screaming man's ear, almost in a whisper. "And if you're thinking about telling this to the police, I'm just going to speed up the process."

Xander's mother Jessica appeared a few moments later, and ran to her screaming husband. She had tears in her eyes. "What did you do to him?" she asked in a panic, finally noticing the knees bent at odd angles.

"What he deserved. Call an ambulance."

He slammed the front door, and when he arrived outside, his brain finally caught up with his actions. Xander fell down on his knees and vomited on his front porch, while the end of his now permanent transformation downloaded the rough equivalent of twenty lifetimes of military training, combat training, both armed and unarmed, tactics, enough to make him the deadliest motherfucker in the entire planet, all thanks to a servant of Chaos called Ethan Rayne. When it ended, it also cleared up the memories from last night, making him remember a very interesting fact.

-oOo-

He looked to the sides, his special abilities telling him he was in a big clusterfuck for the moment. It wasn't that the enemies where an actual threat, but there were a few non-coms in the area, he needed to take them out of the equation.

:: Apollo? Jack? Angie? Anyone can hear me?:: he tried calling over their radiotelepathy, but either the signal was being jammed somehow, or not being transmitted at all.

The redhead closer to him ran towards him. "Xander, are you all right?"

"I'm not Xander, lady. Name's Midnighter."

"Oh, no, not you too," she said in a near panic.

"Me too what? What the fuck is going on?"

"XANDER!!"

Before he could reply to the girl's screech, he heard something into his mind.

:: Midnighter?::

::Jenny? Where are you?::

::I don't know, somewhere in town. Something really odd is going on.::

::More odd than monsters roaming the streets?:: he asked, sarcastically.

::With our lives, I consider this normal. What I think odd is that I'm not in my body. An…old acquaintance of mine is also here with me, and he's not looking like himself.::

::I have someone here with me who seems to know something about what's going on.::

::Ok, ask her about what's going on, but first priority is taking the non combatants out of the area. Send them to the Carrier, we'll handle things as we go. Any sign of the others?::

::None. Lemme talk to the girl, I'll call back as soon as I know something.::

The entire mind-talk took less than two seconds, and as soon as it finished, Midnighter turned to the redhead.

"You have any idea on what's going on?" he asked.

"Well, I don't know. You are my friend Xander, and until a minute ago you were dressed as some kind of Batman rip-off, then things got really wonky, and people started going nuts. I don't…"

"Look, I gotta get you out of the street. I have a safe place for you."

"Well, ok. I think. Buffy…Oh my God, BUFFY!!" the redhead screamed and started looking up and down the street.

"Who's Buffy?"

The redhead didn't answer, instead she pointed down the street to a blonde girl dressed in a fluffy dress, who was screaming at a car.

"There she is. Come on," the redhead said, and instinctively tried to grab his arm. Somehow, his implants didn't treat the motion as a menace, which was good, however the hand passing_ through_ his arm spooked him a little.

"What did you dress as?" he asked, surprised.

"Ah…a ghost?"

"What have I gotten myself in?"

"I don't know, but we have to save her."

"Let's go," he said, and they ran to her.

"DEMON, DEMON!!!" the brunette was screaming to the night, afraid of a simple car.

"BUFFY!" the redhead called, and the other teen turned to her.

"Who are you? And what manner of ruffian is this?" the 'lady' asked.

"We're friends, I'm your friend, and so is he," she said, pointing to him. "I think," she murmured the last part.

"I'm no friends with such a low born strumpet, and I'm certain a man dressed such as his cannot befriend anyone," useless girl said.

Midnighter's already thin patience evaporated in a second. "I don't have time for this. Door."

From out of thin air, about two feet from them, the very air changed, showing a rather unique view. It seemed like a wall of yellowish energy, about eight feet high by twelve wide, and no apparent depth.

"What manner of magic is that?" Useless asked. The redhead's eyes seemed like they would burst at any moment.

"Not magic. Come on, both of you, go," he said, pointing to the energy wall.

"What is that?" the redhead asked.

"The safe place I said. Come on, go!" he pointed again, his internal sensors array pumped to the max, trying to analyze the confusing data.

"I'm not…" Useless started, but the warrior wasted no more time, he simply grabbed her by the dress and threw her at the door. She disappeared a moment later.

"Where is she?" the redhead asked, scared.

"A safe place."

-oOo-

Xander stood up again, on very steady legs, his new implants fixing his body's reactions to what had just happened. He needed time to think, all by himself. So he simply turned slightly to a side and spoke.

"Door."

The same yellowish interface from last night appeared to his right, and with a small measure of fear coursing through his veins, he walked through it, only to appear once again in a place that should only exist in the realm of comic books, but it was all too real.

He was on the Carrier.

And he was not alone.

"Hello, Xander. Or do you prefer Midnighter?"


	2. God Save the Bloody Rayne

**Disclaimers:** See Part 1

* * *

**Chapter 2 – God Save the Bloody Rayne, cause if I ever meet him...**

She felt like she was drowning in dry land, the bed trying to engulf her in its softness. It wasn't the greatest bed she slept in her fairly long life, but it was far from being the worse. It was, however, one of the most relaxing sleeps she had in a long time. Jenny was almost going back to sleep when all of her thought processes – sleep-ridden until then – derailed messily, making her jump out of the bed as if she had been electrocuted. Not that it would have been a problem – the electrocution thing anyway – but being close to the edge of the mattress, and having been tangled on the sheets until that point, proved more than enough to make Newton once again be right. She hit the carpeted floor, and luckily her agility, affected by last night's spell, managed to keep her clear of damage of any sort, except maybe her pride.

Jenny stood up after disentangling herself from the sheets, and walked to the full length mirror attached to her room's wall. Well, as far as look went, she was still Jenny Calendar, or Jana Kalderash, of the gypsy clan of the same name, sent over to the Hellmouth to keep an eye on the vampire with a soul named Angel.

And then there was Sparks.

Jennifer Sparks.

Colonel.

Leader of the Authority.

The Spirit of the Twentieth Century.

Nearly a hundred years old.

Didn't look a day over 20.

Smoke like a chimney – where were her fags anyway?

"Bloody fucking hell!"

And was British.

Her memories – both sets – knew enough about magic to know this was the effect of some bizarre spell. Her _own_ memories, however, didn't know of a spell strong enough to keep the effects for so long. The memories should have faded already, and she still sensed Sparks' own power under her fingertips. Deciding on a small test, she snapped her fingers, not really paying attention to how much power she was using. The small electrical thunderbolt that erupted from her fingers jumped straight to the metallic lamppost to the side of her bed, the current traveling through the thin wire, to her apartment's distribution panel. A second later, she knew she would have to pay someone to redo her apartment's entire wiring. Luckily, both her desktop PC and her laptop were safe, she had the downright annoying habit of disconnecting them from the wall once she finished working.

She took a minute-long shower and got dressed into something comfortable, jeans, some tennis shoes, and the same Union Jack t-shirt she had rented for Halloween. She was out the door and into her car not ten minutes after she had awakened, with a destination in mind.

Giles'.

* * *

In another part of the town, a British man – this one's nationality gained by birth, not by a spell – was also awakening from sleep. He was acutely aware that something was different with him, and his memories did not include how he ended up in his own bed. Some sort of magic had been cast, turning people into their costumes, and while Ms. Calendar … Jenny … had given him his all-white three-pieces suit, he had the feeling she had no intention of turning him into…whoever he was last night. Even for a fictional character, his story…his memories, were too choppy, too disjointed to make any sense, and unless whoever had created him either had a very lousy writing ability, or his memories were indeed very fragmented.

He stood up and went to the small kitchen to make a pot of tea, and to try and figure out what the hell had happened. He had just poured his first cup when someone banged on his front door. Giles opened it to a flustered and angry-looking Jenny Calendar.

"Do you have any bloody idea of what the bloody hell happened last night?" she asked, entering the apartment as soon as he cleared the way.

"I don't know," he replied, finally noticing that his own accent seemed less pronounced, while Jenny's was downright noticeable. "It's not that hard to figure we've both been caught in this sp…mess, whatever it was," Giles said, correcting himself at the nick of time.

"If you were going to say 'spell', English, I know what you're talking about. I am…was…whatever, what you'd call a techno-pagan. I know a bit about the weird side of life," she said, patting herself for her pack. "You have a fag?" she asked nervously.

"I didn't know you smoke," he said, going for his bedroom and the only pack he still kept.

"Until the bloody last night I didn't," Jenny muttered. Giles brought back his nearly empty pack of cigarettes, and offered her one. When he patted himself for a lighter, Jenny smirked and lifted her hand, the tip of the cigarette resting in the space between thumb and forefinger. A small arc of electricity traveled between the two digits, lighting it up. Giles' eyes widened in surprise, while she took her first drag.

"So, what do you think happened?" he asked, sitting.

"Someone enchanted our costumes. Why, I have no bloody idea…"

"Well, let's start at the beginning then. Where did you purchase them?"

"New place in town, called Ethan's."

Giles cursed, the temperature in the room had a sudden drop towards near-freezing. The shock of the experience brought him out of his immediate rage, and the freezing cold dissipated as suddenly as it came about. "What the hell was that?" he asked, confused.

"Well, from what I remember from my new memories, you kept the powers of the man you dressed as, Elijah Snow," Jenny said. "So, you didn't keep the memories?" she asked, curiously.

"I have…fragments of a past history, but they're too convoluted to make any sense. Who was this…Snow?" Giles asked, while taking a sip of his tea, which he promptly spat. "Damn, it's gotten cold."

Jenny snickered. "Seems like you kept more than just the abilities, your accent seemed to have diminished."

"And your…character was British, I take it," Giles remarked.

"Yes, she was. Can we return to the bloody conversation?"

"Sure. I know exactly what happened, now. Ethan Rayne did," the Watcher said, rage reflected in his eyes.

"The shop's owner?"

"Yes, he's an old…friend," he said the last part with disgust. "From my teenage years, and while the stupid things I did made me rethink the rest of my life, his made him only want to do more. He's a Chaos worshipper, and something like that is exactly his flavor."

He stood up. "Now, why did you pick those clothes?"

"No mystery there. I thought the Union Jack t-shirt would make you smile, as it did before everything happened, and also thought that you would look very spiffy on a three-piece white suit, as you did. Besides, I've never even heard of the characters before," she pointed out.

"Who would have?" he asked, but in the same moment, he got his answer, and so did Jenny.

"Xander."

Before they could go any further, the front door literally blew up on them, and Jenny reacted accordingly to her newfound instincts, a blast of electricity blowing whoever it was on the other side.

"JENNY," Giles reacted, running to see who could have been. The young woman looked mortified for a second, before running right after him. The blast had been enough to incinerate a human, but they found a nearly naked Cordelia Chase, hanging on to burnt pieces of clothes.

"Cordelia?" Giles asked, seeing the tears running down her cheeks.

She ignored Giles for a moment and turned to Jenny. "Do that again, please?" she begged between sobs.

* * *

A few minutes later, Giles had managed to put the door - the remainders of it – back in place, it was enough to give them some privacy, but it would need to be replaced as soon as possible. Meanwhile, Ms. Calendar was attempting to calm down a frantic Cordelia. Giles had very little knowledge about the girl, but he knew enough to see that her current behavior was not her usual. A borrowed shirt of his, plus an old short was enough to give back her modesty, and it appeared that Jenny had made her stop crying, at least. He sat on a chair to a side, close to the girl currently curled up in his couch.

"Now, Ms. Chase, what happened?" he asked softly.

"You tell me. Aren't you the expert on weird?" she asked, enraged.

"You…might be right, Ms. Chase, but I need some information to be able to help. What happened?"

"I can't FEEL, Giles," she screamed.

"Feel? Feel what?" Jenny asked, curiously.

"ANYTHING! I CAN'T FEEL A DAMN THING!" she screamed, and went back to sobbing, hugging her knees. Giles and Jenny traded glances, and a spark of something lighted up in the man's eyes.

"Cordelia, last night. Who you dressed up as?" he

She stopped crying for a moment. "I don't know. Partytown had nothing to my taste, so I went to that place with a weird name, what is it?"

"Ethan's," Giles and Jenny said.

The stunning brunette lifted her head. "How do you know? Anyway, he also had nothing great, but I needed something to use, so I picked a one-piece black leather bodysuit and a mask. I remember walking out of my house for Halloween, and waking up this morning."

"This bodysuit, does it have red highlights?" he asked, fearing the answer.

"Yes, why?" Cordelia replied, while Jenny looked to him.

Giles sighed. "Jakita."

"It's jacket," Cordelia replied automatically.

"No, you dressed up as an ally of my…character. A woman named Jakita Wagner," he said.

"I…remember this name. How? Who is she?"

"I don't know exactly. My memories of my characters are…choppy at best. I remember some of her more, er, striking characteristics, that's why I figured out who you are…were…is," Giles explained somewhat.

"So? Why can't I feel a damn thing? Except for Ms. Calendar thunderbolt – and what the hell was that anyway – I don't feel anything else. Even that seemed like a tickle. If I wasn't seeing my clothes now, I could be naked and wouldn't know," the young woman said.

"Jakita is powerful, as for how much, I don't know. For a fact, I know that she has superhuman strength and speed, and she's nearly invulnerable. Although she never mentioned anything about lack of feeling, she did mention that she was often 'bored'. That could be why."

"What can you do?" Cordelia asked.

"We were starting to talk about it, Ms. Chase. If you can stay and help shed whatever information you might have on the subject, maybe we can find a solution."

"Maybe?"

"With Chaos, Ms. Chase, everything is about 'maybes'," Giles said, and Cordelia's hope was shattered a bit more.


End file.
